


Far More Important

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Dokken, Music RPF
Genre: Drama, Emotional Roller Coaster, Enemies with Common Ground, Fevers, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Panic Attacks, Seizures, Setting differences aside, Tension, emotional breakdown, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: Chaos hits the Dokken camp backstage after Jeff Pilson performs while severely ill, against George Lynch's better judgement. Jeff needs immediate medical attention, and George must seek help from his bandmate and arch nemesis, Don Dokken, following a heated argument earlier in the day. They have two choices -allow disaster to proceed, or set aside their pride and differences and work together to help Jeff.





	1. A Bad Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Backing up; was written in January 2017 for the Rockfic Grant Your Own Wish challenge following 2016 ficmas. My prompt was questioning whether Don and George could set their differences aside if Jeff Pilson collapsed backstage after performing while ill to help him. A family crisis during the writing process turned this one a lot more intense than planned.

George Lynch walked through the bus from the common area up front, a dark glare etched into his features, leaving behind a sullen, pouting Don Dokken.

He hated Don at times like these. Usually he could pass him as a strong dislike, but after certain talks -or verbal fights like the one they'd just had until Ray, their usually easy-going driver, gave them the "that's enough!" order, he was in a mode which he _hated_ Don's guts. 

Don had especially been insufferable the past couple of months as this tour went on. They still had another month left, and George was feeling like he might puke at the concept. 

_"You have been nothing but negative all tour long."_ As if Don hadn't been either.

_"I am sick and fucking tired of cocaine powder traces being left in our bus lavatory."_ Well, maybe George had forgotten to clean up the sink a couple of times when he'd snorted off the rim. But there was no way in hell that it was all his. Don wasn't calling Mick out on it the same way, and there was no doubt in the world with as much time as Mick spent in the back of the bus that a good amount of those cocaine traces on the rim of the bathroom sink were his.

George couldn't even remember how the argument started. He at least thought it was going over a slight adjustment to the itinerary, but then came a sarcastic remark, and the next thing, Don was bitching and moaning at completely irrelevant things. George had called him out on it, Don got his panties in a bunch because of it, and then they were yelling.

_"George, for pity's sake, I ask you for a favor the rest of this tour -it's ONE. MONTH. You would think that wouldn't be so God damned difficult!"_

_"Well, Don, I'm glad it's only one fucking month left, because I'm sick and tired of having to put up with your shit. You think you're so great when some nights you're barely hitting the high notes, and it's Jeff who's covering it up. We don't even NEED you here."_

_"That statement doesn't even hold water! You're full of yourself too on some of the nights that you go onstage for soundcheck so coked up that you turn your rig up too high and overpower Jeff, and then on really bad nights, you stumble on the leads. Look at yourself in the mirror pointing the finger at me and there are gonna be three pointing right back at you; you're a hypocrite!"_

_"Look at YOURSELF in the mirror and you'll find THIRTY pointing back at YOU!"_

And then Ray pulled the plug on their argument.

_"Hey! Whatever you two are shouting about, either go to the back of the bus and deal with it, wait until a stop, or drop it. It's very distracting. That's enough!"_

Though they had opted to "drop it" for now, George's mind was running with annoyance, building up a lot of thoughts, some true, and some nastier than what he usually thought -but he was pissed.

His expression softened and he winced as he heard raucous coughing through the bus from the direction of the bunks.

Jeff Pilson was sick. He'd been mildly sick for a good period, and now he had been quite pitifully sick for almost two days.

George stopped in the bunk area.

"Jeff?" he asked, lifting the curtain that Jeff hung over his bunk.

Jeff looked up at him with his innocent, blue-green eyes, which were glassy with tears from the force of coughing and underlined by deep, dark circles and puffy bags. His eyelids hung heavy, having been woken up out of a sound sleep by the noise. His mouth and nose were completely covered by one of the many bandannas he owned, having tied it around and over his ears every day since his cough had escalated whenever they were on the bus. It looked pretty ridiculous, but Jeff said he didn't want to get anyone else sick, and so far, he had not.

"You alright, Jeff?"

"G-George...? Why are you and Don yelling?" 

George closed his eyes and shook his head, still frustrated. Good grief, and Jeff sounded so innocent and concerned about it too. That gentle, nervous voice, muffled by raspiness and congestion.

"Nothing, just a stupid disagreement that started because he was being a drama queen. You look worse than earlier, Jeff, what's the matter?"

Jeff whimpered. "It hurts."

"What hurts, Jeff?" George knelt down beside Jeff's bunk.

Jeff placed his hands over his torso -one on his upper chest, and one on his stomach.

"Is it from coughing?" asked George.

Jeff nodded. "I think so. 'S worse when I cough." He reached down to the floor beside the bunk where he had a glass bottle of orange juice, though it was mostly gone from when he'd gotten it an hour ago. As he did, George saw his eyes squint shut in discomfort, and he reached up with his other hand, grabbing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then rubbing his forehead. His bangs stuck to his fingers as he did, damp with sweat.

_I don't like the look of that..._

George watched Jeff drink the rest of his orange juice and promptly go into another fit of coughing and wheezing behind his bandanna shield as soon as he finished. Then Jeff reached up again, rubbing his shoulders and neck, moaning softly. He had very flushed cheeks, and he seemed zoned out, not entirely focused on anything.

"Jeff, you sound like you're gonna hack up a lung."

That was when Jeff looked at George with a confused look, as if he wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Like he was delirious.

"Let me see," said George, concerned. He touched Jeff's forehead. Instantly, his brow furrowed.

"Jeff, shift over toward me a second," he instructed.

With great effort, Jeff slid over on the pillow, his eyes glazed over and heavy-lidded as if he was fighting to not drift back off to sleep as he had been before the first fit of coughing that George walked in on.

George wrapped his arm under Jeff's shoulders, resting Jeff's head on his own shoulder and lifting him up a bit. He could feel that Jeff's whole back was pretty misty with sweat, and a lot warmer than normal. Then he leaned over and gently placed his cheek against Jeff's forehead after sweeping aside his damp bangs. The heat radiated from Jeff's body, burning against his face, and then his torso as Jeff decided to grab on and cling to George, only sighing contentedly once he was locked around him -a sure sign he was feeling utterly miserable.

"Oh, Jeff," George whispered pityingly. "You can't go onstage like this -you're burning." He pulled himself free, tucked Jeff back under the blankets, and stroked his fingers through Jeff's hair, encouraging him to relax, though the bassist kept reaching his arms out from under the covers and out towards George, trying to grab hold of him again. He likely would have been begging George to get in the bunk with him if he weren't potentially contagious.

"Yeah, I can go onstage," moaned Jeff.

"No, Jeff-"

"Please," Jeff whimpered.

_"No."_

In his state of delirium, Jeff was still in enough sense to slowly look up into George's eyes.

_Oh no, not that. Please don't do that -it's gonna be the death of me,_ George thought.

Jeff stuck out his lower lip ever so slightly and widened his big, soft, doe-like eyes, giving his best sad puppy impression.

George sighed and sat down on the edge of the bunk. 

"Jeff, look-"

Jeff crawled sideways on his stomach to wrap his arms around George's hips and rested his chin on his thigh.

Placing his hand on Jeff's warm back, George traced soothing patterns with his fingertips.

"Jeff, I know how you are and that you don't like to sit out of things, but you've been sick for over two weeks now, and you've got me worried here with this fever still going and getting worse. You're coughing so that you're having trouble breathing. I think going to an urgent care this evening would be better."

"It's not that bad," said Jeff.

"Do you have the thermometer, or is it up front with Ray? I want to get your temperature," said George. He could feel how feverish Jeff's body was against his legs, and was steadily becoming more concerned.

Jeff slung his arm up and into a small storage basket that hung on the wall inside his bunk, pulling the thermometer out.

"Under your tongue," George ordered. "I'm serious."

Still keeping his pouting puppy dog appearance, Jeff slid the thermometer through his lips and held it in his mouth for a couple of minutes.

"Okay, let me see," said George.

Jeff pulled the thermometer out of his mouth, squinting at it and placing the upper, clean portion of it into George's fingertips.

"Jeff, this says 102.7. You're getting close to 103. No wonder you're run down like this."

"I'm telling you, I can do it if you let me -it's not that bad. I'll be able to do it if I just save my energy for it," said Jeff, straining to sound less groggy than he had a minute ago.

"Are you sure?" asked George.

"If I can stand up and hold a bass that's strapped around me, I can do it," Jeff insisted.

George started to say something, but felt as if his tongue froze in place. He was uncomfortable with the idea, but he didn't have it in him to argue with Jeff any longer, and if he saw those puppy eyes again, it would be the complete undoing of any resistance he had left.

"Okay. But I'm getting you some ibuprofen. You have to take it right now, and again before the performance -that's an order from me. I'm getting you some Gatorade too, because you're sweating up a storm, and you know from my experience why I don't want you getting dehydrated before the show even starts.

Jeff nodded submissively. Nothing that George could have told him to do or any fussing wouldn't have been worth being able to perform.

George came back with the ibuprofen and waited until he saw Jeff take it. Jeff went into another coughing fit that obviously left him dizzy, and George sat beside the bunk, comforting Jeff until he fell asleep.

"George... You're gonna get sick'f y'keep by me," Jeff whispered, his words slurring between a combination of falling asleep and how delirious he was.

"And then I'll just go with you to whatever urgent care we take you to tomorrow when we don't have a show and stop to get you checked out," George answered, placing his cheek on Jeff's forehead again. Jeff quieted as soon as George did -the contact always seemed to have a calming effect on him. And Jeff _did_ feel a bit cooler, though George didn't think the ibuprofen had kicked in fully yet. It was more likely the consumption of cold fluids upon waking up, which George hoped would mean Jeff's temperature would go down even more.

Despite what he hoped, he had a bad feeling he just couldn't shake off.

Jeff ended up falling asleep in his bunk for a couple of hours, until everyone gathered around the front common area at the table to eat something before they arrived at the venue and had to deal with sound check. George was still brooding, and when Don attempted to start conversation, he slunk out, excusing himself to the bathroom.

Nearly choking on a sip of water that was colder than he'd anticipated, Jeff tugged his bandanna down over his mouth, got up and turned away from the table, and let off a short round of coughs. Then he sneezed forcefully.

"Bless you," said Don.

"Gesundheit," said Mick in his German accent impression with a small grin. Whenever any of them did the fake accent, it highly amused Jeff, and it was clear what Mick's intentions were.

"Thanks," sniffled Jeff, leaving to get the tissue box from his bunk, the tiniest start of a giggle curling his lips. He was still feeling plenty sneezy and had a feeling he'd be making a lot of trips back and forth if he didn't take the whole thing. Moreover, it was probably easier to block coughing fits with tissues while eating than with a bandanna he'd have to keep pulling down from where he'd flipped it up out of the way -where it instead blocked his eyes.

Sure enough, Jeff sneezed again a few seconds after returning, once again quickly blocking his mouth and nose, this time with a couple of tissues. A second sneeze came even more forcefully than the first before he could recover from it. He rubbed his eyes and moaned at the sinus pressure it forced behind his eyes.

"Bless you."

"-Gesundheit; gesundheit!" repeated Mick.

Jeff looked pitiful, his eyes all red and watery, his face screwing up and tiny little gasps starting as he was winding up again.

Mick didn't bother this time, so Don spoke, picking up the impression as the pathetic sight managed to grab hold of his heart strings. At least a little bit.

"Gesundheit, and that's the last one you get," he said firmly as soon as the one lingering sneeze was out. "All others are implied."

George came back from the lavatory and fixed Don with a severe death glare. He'd only heard Don's last remark, not realizing everything else before it.

Just to spite Don, he came over and patted Jeff on the shoulder while the sick bassist now turned away and dissolved into another vicious coughing fit behind his bandanna.

"Bless you, Jeff."

Following this, attempt at conversation aside from between Jeff and George stopped. For the most part, everyone got ready for the show in silence. George took Jeff out of the dressing room with Don and Mick to reassess his temperature and whether he was up to it.

"Are you sure you can do this?" asked George.

Jeff nodded impatiently, holding the thermometer in his mouth. It read 100.9 with ibuprofen onboard. George wasn't comfortable with the temperature, nor was he with Jeff's coughing fits that would run him breathless.

But Jeff's eyes were clear, he seemed aware of himself -not sluggish and dazed like earlier on the bus -and he even had a spring in his step when he put his bass on, having finished dressing up, putting a fresh bandanna on for the performance. He thoroughly washed his cough-guard one in a sink with soap and hot water, hanging it up to dry so that it would be waiting for him when the show was over.

George knew that he could protect Jeff to a point, but he couldn't control what he did, nor did he feel like he should as Jeff was responsible for himself in making his decisions. So, when Jeff was ready and excited to go onstage, he accepted that it was just how it was.

"Just watch yourself and try not to run around too much if you start feeling weak, okay?" he told Jeff. That was all he really could do, and it was Jeff's choice whether he'd do it.

"Okay," said Jeff, giving George a thumbs up and a tired smile.

"Hey, we're headed on!" called Mick.

"Alright, let's go!" urged Jeff to George, springing forward like a hyper puppy at a squirrel.

George followed Jeff out onstage, in his mind trying to decide how early tomorrow would he be willing to get up to take Jeff to urgent care under the circumstances - should they stay the same or get worse.

Jeff made it through the whole show, energetic as ever, running around him during instrumental sections and solos, and exciting the crowd with his wild presence. As they hit the end of the last song, George was thinking that they might not have to hurry to get to the doctor tomorrow on their off day, and could possibly sleep in until the afternoon and then go.

But, when they left the stage and went back to the dressing room, things took a turn to lead George to believe they wouldn't even be going to urgent care tomorrow, but rather, the emergency room.

Jeff sat down on the bench, leaning forward and putting his hands on either side of his knees to brace himself. He was coughing in droves again and wheezing, his tented position suggesting he was struggling worse than ever.

Mick looked at Jeff, then looked at Don and George.

"You two think he might need to get checked out tonight if he doesn't catch his breath in a few minutes?"

Don and George both looked at Jeff, though without making eye contact with each other. Both quickly changed demeanors, seeing Jeff though.

"I am going to let _you two_ be the judge of that, and I am going to shower," said Mick, darting out as if to say he wasn't getting involved and putting himself at risk to get caught between Don and George in an argument -having obviously heard the one this morning and seen the after signs. They were on their own.

Don murmured something about showering "really quick" so they weren't "disreputable" and taking Jeff to get checked out somewhere sooner than later. 

"I'll be in in just a minute," panted Jeff, agreeing with Don.

George wouldn't have cared so much about what medical staff would have thought of him, but he did feel pretty gross coming offstage, so he went with Don's suggestion and ran to the showers, determined to be the first one in besides Mick, and the first one out. Don followed behind him.

George was as fast as possible, showering haphazardly -simply getting soap on his body and rinsing it off, not taking the time to wash his hair or anything, but simply getting the sweat and smoke machine nastiness off himself. He could more thoroughly wash down when they arrived at their hotel, or if need be, in the shower their bus was equipped with -though he would have to be strategic there because the water tank was limited and it was quite cramped. Reasons for which they only made use of it when it was absolutely necessary.

The thing that concerned him was that unless if he'd missed Mick leaving the shower and Jeff getting in the one that Mick had been in, Jeff still hadn't gotten to the showers. Don was still in the shower for sure, because he had his toiletries outside his curtain and in the aisle so that they wouldn't get as wet and nasty -he was the only one of them who did that. And the shower area was quiet. There was no tell-tale sniffling or coughing echoing about.

So George got out and began getting dried and dressed, having brought his street clothes in with him in a plastic bag for the sake of not being distracted by anything that could delay him. He was just as quick drying off, still quite soaked from his dripping hair when he hurriedly threw on his jeans and a loose tank top, shoving his feet into his shoes and not bothering to untie and retie them. Maybe five minutes wasn't that long, but Jeff wasn't one to drag his feet.

"Hey, Jeff, are you out here? Are you going to the sh-?"

As he rounded the corner and the dressing room came into view, George stopped short, not needing to finish his sentence, as the answer was right in front of him. But said answer nearly stopped his heart with his question.

Jeff was no longer on the bench, but rather, sprawled on the floor beside it, and unconscious. By the awkward position he was in, he'd either passed out and tumbled off the bench, or he'd collapsed upon trying to stand up.

George felt sick and took a step back at the first look. He knew he shouldn't have let Jeff perform tonight.

"Jeff?" he asked, stooping down and shaking him. He flinched at how terribly Jeff's arm burned against his hand -worse than earlier today. He tried and couldn't even get himself against Jeff's forehead -it was unbearably hot to the touch.

Jeff's eyelids fluttered and he gave a small moan.

"Jeff, look at me. What's going on?" asked George, his voice wavering with panic.

Jeff's eyes barely opened, and they would not focus, gazing listlessly. He didn't seem to recognize it was George there.

"Hurts..." he moaned, managing to limply flop a hand over his chest. His whole body began to tremor with chills to the point at which he was chattering.

"Please," Jeff whimpered between gasps that were raspy and wheezy, his breathing labored. "Make it s-stop. Make...it s-stop! M-make s...stop!" His words were sluggish with delirium, and he sounded like he was crying in pain as he forced his words out.

George shuddered, a hand reflexively jerking up to shield his eyes from the sight. He wanted to flinch away, curl up in a ball, cover his ears from the sound, and sob like a child. The sight and sound together were unbearable, and he was traumatized.

"I'm gonna make it stop, Jeff; I'm gonna get you to a doctor who can help you," he assured the strung out bassist nervously. "I just need to find somebody to get help or stay with you while I get it." He would have rather stayed with Jeff and have somebody else sent to call for help, but regardless, there was no way he was leaving Jeff alone if he had to go call.

On the verge of freaking out, he looked around the backstage area. The crew was out of sight, having bagged up equipment in waterproof covering and staging it to be taken outside. Great, it was raining, which meant all hands on deck -none of them were going to help. He couldn't see Mick either, meaning he was still in the shower.

The only person George saw through the corner of his eye and around a doorway, was Don. From the other room, Don was clearly not aware of what had happened. He was blotting his wet hair with a towel, having just gotten dressed after his shower. Apparently, despite being slower than George, he had to have rushed, because his water resistant eyeshadow, which took a significant amount of rubbing to remove, was still intact.

Oh, hell no was George getting help from Don. No. He had to wait until a member of the crew came inside, or until Mick got out of his shower -if Mick would help him.

But then Jeff choked off in a fit of coughing, and when his coughing stopped, he stopped talking and responding. He continued to tremor, and was still breathing, but it was obviously constricted, and Jeff wasn't flushed the bright shade of pink one would expect between a high fever and having run through a show over an hour long. He was pale. Really pale. And when George picked up one of his hands to get a look, he saw the slightest tint of blue at Jeff's cuticles.

George squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists in a blind panic.

"DON!" he screamed.

Don came into the doorway and glanced from George, over to Jeff, and back to George with the look of "what the fuck?" plastered across his face in a way that could have only been described as world class. George would have been hysterical under any other circumstance. 

"WHAT ON _EARTH_ is going on?!"

"I -I don't know. He was sitting on the floor coughing and saying he was feeling dizzy, and he just passed out," George stammered. "I got him to wake up a second, but he didn't recognize I was there, and he passed out again, and I don't want to leave him-"

"I will stay with him. You get the phone and call 911. RIGHT NOW!" Don ordered.

George almost went berserk screaming in Don's face then. He was closer to Jeff; Jeff trusted him more -he should have been the one to stay with him, and Don could have gotten that phone. But then he realized that Don had steered clear all day, and really hadn't been around Jeff or George, nor had he been aware of Jeff's fever earlier, because George hadn't bothered to communicate it to him.

_Duh, you're the one who knows more to explain to the operator,_ George thought to himself as he tore through the backstage area for the phone. He could hear Don demanding the first aid kit from the crew, asking for one equipped with an instant cold pack and a thermometer specifically. Well, at least he was thinking to do something useful.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My bandmate just passed out backstage following a performance -he's having trouble breathing. He's been sick the last few days with a bad cough, and today he really started having trouble, and he's got a really high fever." George proceeded nervously to give the name of the venue in the city.

"Okay, EMTs are being dispatched right now. Can you give any details of what your bandmate has been experiencing symptom-wise so I can tell the team to know what to expect and have ready?"

"I-I don't know. It started out as what seemed like a cold with a deep cough and chest congestion -he's very energetic you see, and he doesn't start to act run down by anything until it gets really bad, so we didn't think anything of it for a couple of weeks. Then he started to become less energetic a couple of days ago because of a fever -it hovered around 101.5 and we were giving him ibuprofen and he was doing okay. But today he acted like he was having trouble breathing and going into coughing fits where he was dizzy, and his fever went to 102.7. He insisted on playing tonight, and he just passed out backstage now, after the show."

"Do you have the patient's current temperature?"

"What's his temperature?" demanded George, holding the phone with a death grip as if someone would snatch it from him before he finished relaying vital information.

Don's face was white as a sheet and his eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets as he read the thermometer, holding it with one hand and keeping the cold pack under Jeff's neck with the other as well as tilting his head back to keep his airway as open as possible.

"George, Jeff has a fever of 105.4 Fahrenheit. That's dangerous. He needs to go to the hospital."

George relayed the temperature.

"Has the patient complained of any body aches or stiffness?" asked the operator.

George thought. Jeff hadn't really complained that much, though it was like Jeff to hide when he wasn't feeling well because he never wanted to interrupt the itinerary or cause trouble by causing the need for a cancelation or a stand-in. He'd only complained to George of a stomach and chest ache. But he'd seen Jeff grab at his neck a lot, and rub at his shoulders and his head as if he had been in pain there too.

Given Jeff's other symptoms, George at least didn't _think_ they were because of what he presumed the operator was checking for. Jeff hadn't shown concrete signs or symptoms of meningitis. He had assumed the ache-like symptoms in Jeff were from how badly his body was being jolted by the coughing. But hearing this question with the severe fever Jeff had, being passed out, and with the awkward trembling that was more than chill-induced shivering had just experienced sent all of George's rational thinking out the window, and his speech dissolved into painful stuttering as he thought of the implications should Jeff actually have it.

"Not d-directly to me, n-no. B-but he -he's b-been acting like he has been. Grabbing his neck, y-you know?"

"Alright. We already have the venue location -we are going to ask that none of you there move the patient unless he is in a place that is hazardous. The EMT crew is on the way, and based on his symptoms, they're going to need to take him in the ambulance."

It was George's turn to go pale in the face.

"Don, they're sending an ambulance."

Don stayed by Jeff's side, watching him in case his condition got worse.

"As scary as that is, there's good in that. He'll be safer in transport that way, they can help him on the way there, and he'll be taken in the back doors right away instead of having to wait in the ER until triage. Please come here, though -I need help for this."

George set the phone down on the table, leaving the line connected and running over to Jeff.

"He stopped sweating. We need to put damp towels on him or something of the sort, or is temperature is going to get worse, and I don't want to leave him alone. Do you want to get them, or do you want to stay here with Jeff?"

George dropped down on his knees beside Jeff and glared up at Don at the absurdity of that question.

"Oh for goodness' sake," said Don, jumping to his feet, having no trouble reading the answer from George's reaction, and being a bit annoyed by his attitude. He ran back to the dressing room, finding two spare towels that were clean, and then went to the showers to wet them down with cold water. He got a few paper towels too, and then went back.

"We're going to cover him up as much as possible," said Don. He let George cover Jeff up with the towels while he tucked the wet paper towels under Jeff's neck to supplement the cold pack, and on his forehead beneath his bangs.

George thought back to his experience a little over a year ago on the Tooth and Nail tour. What it had meant when he'd stopped sweating, despite his earlier efforts to prevent it. Dehydration and low blood pressure in combination with a high fever was a lot worse -that could send him into shock, or worse, it could cause him to have...

Before George could think on that any further, the dreadful possibility crossing his mind cruelly grabbed hold of Jeff's body, seizing his already trembling muscles in hard contracture, and sent an entirely different wave of chaos crashing down over Don and George. 

"What the fuck is this?!" shouted George, despite knowing full well what it was.

Don let out a groan as Jeff's rigid arm seized and spasmed to hit him in the stomach where he was leaning over by his side.

"What does it look like?!" Don retorted, tried to keep Jeff lying on the floor as his back tried to arch and lift up.

"Jeff doesn't have a condition like that!" Panic had George in denial that Jeff's current, acute condition was far from normal, and things out of the ordinary could indeed happen.

"You can go into convulsions _without_ having epilepsy!" snapped Don, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. "And there's not a thing we can do to stop it either. I'll keep him from choking; you hold him down so he doesn't thrash himself around!" The singer turned Jeff's head sideways in case he threw up, watching as George regained some of his bearings and held Jeff down.

One of the crew members came running in.

"Emergency Medical Service is here!"

"Well no shit, that's fantastic! Let them in already!" Don hollered, George shouting in unison with him on the "let them in" part.

As if on cue, another crew man opened the exterior door, and a team of five EMTs ran in, one overseeing the scene, three trying to get his vital signs, and the other taking over Don's position.

"Please, stand back," he ordered calmly.

Jeff's convulsive motions were beginning to slow down, and he was less rigid. The seizure was letting up.

"He's breathing, but his oxygen sats are low. His pulse is weak," shouted one of the EMTs. Having gotten his pulse, temperature, and respiration rate, two of the ones checking vitals began trying to get him stabilized and administer on-scene treatment. The third continued to watch for changes.

"It's weak because his blood pressure is so low -he has all this inflammation like his immune system is going crazy and his vessels are dilated as can be, but his blood pressure is low and they're collapsing," groaned another, trying to get a cannula into a vein. "Alright, I'm going to have to do it in an artery, because there is no way we're getting a vein."

"Do it. They can put a new one in a vein at the hospital once he's stabilized," ordered the EMT who was clearly in charge of the team operation.

The EMT finally managed to stick the cannula into an artery in Jeff's arm and hooked a bag of fluids into it.

"We don't know if he's got any sort of meningeal inflammation -that seizure could have been from the fever or worse. We have to get him immobilized on the stretcher so he doesn't get hurt should it be worse," said the leading EMT.

"What the fuck is going on?!" George hollered. "What is this?!"

He kept trying to run over to Jeff, to see what was happening. It felt like there was an invisible force in the air pushing him back before he could even get within five feet, and everything was moving in slow motion.

"Sir, you need to settle down and keep clear of the patient," ordered one of the EMTs, getting Jeff secured for transport.

"Where are you taking him?"

"Cheyenne General -downtown and about twenty miles down the road from here -nearest facility to accommodate an emergency like this."

George ran forward again as the working EMTs lifted the stretcher, preparing to take Jeff outside. "I have to go with him, it's-"

"Sir, unless a patient is in stable, noncritical condition, or a young child, which is not the case here, nobody other than emergency teams can be in the ambulance. You have to stay here and go on your own." 

The team disappeared out the exterior doors of the venue. And then Jeff was gone, leaving Don and George on their own.


	2. One Thing In Common

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Jeff sent off to the hospital following his backstage collapse and tension coming to a peak, Don and George have a reprise of the morning's fight on a much more destructive level, resulting in a delay getting to the hospital to be with Jeff and an unintended slip of vulnerability that reveals to both a few things they didn't know about each other. They find that despite their differences, there's respect -and something in common: somebody who means a lot to them, and far more than their differences.

As soon as EMTs were out of sight and the sound of the ambulance starting up and turning on its warning sirens echoed outside, any sense George had of understanding why it was necessary for the EMTs to have all possible room and no distractions from Jeff went out of his head, and he went completely berserk.

George tried to run for the doors again. He wasn't sure why, given he had nowhere to run to -chasing an ambulance was pointless -but he ran forward anyway, more forcefully this time, and he squeaked as Don grabbed him around the middle, forcing air out of his lungs. Don stood behind George, arms around his abdomen with his hands locked, restraining George from running forward and mimicking the Heimlich maneuver anytime he did jump forward to be caught against Don's stronghold.

Flailing his arms, George continued to strain despite the forcing of his stomach into his diaphragm.

"Fucking let go of me, Don!" he howled, before continuing to jerk forward against Don's arms in hopes that he would break Don's threshold of pain and cause him to let go. He continued to swear in a low growl.

"George Lynch, damn it; you get ahold of yourself this instant!"

"Get out of my way and let me get to the hospital!" George tugged forward, nearly pulling Don off his feet as he pulled against Don's grip and flung his feet forward wildly.

"Not until you calm down!" Don retorted, tightening his hold around George so that he didn't have space to pull forward. "You aren't going _anywhere_ until you calm down!"

George landed a hard, backward kick against Don's ankle bone. A hard one, though he hadn't planned on it -it had been accidental in his struggle to get free of Don's restraint.

Don hissed in pain. 

"You need to stop it, right now! Put a damper on it! I'm about ready to make you stand outside in the rain to cool off. In fact, I'd do it now if it weren't for the fact I'd have to take you out there and stay with you so that you wouldn't go after Jeff and get yourself into trouble."

"Why don't you just let me then?" George sneered. "What bad would it do to you? What business is it of yours?"

Don blew out a sigh, surrendering and letting George go as the guitarist gave one more slam against his aching arms and did him in. He placed one hand on his hip, the other pushing his fingers back through his hair in a dramatic, exaggerated show of annoyance.

_"Calm down._ The last thing that Jeff needs for you to do is to go into that hospital all worked up and prone to getting loud. It wouldn't be fair to him. You're going to upset him if you do, and if you don't, then you're only going to disturb other patients in whatever ward they're taking him to, and that's not fair either. I'm not stopping you because of what I want -this is about Jeff, and you are deranged right now. But you know what? Go ahead! Do it if you're so dead set on it, and then you can deal with the mess you make! Just go, and I'll be there to check in on him when I get _myself_ back down to Earth."

George stood silently, trying to calm down and shaking with a combination of anger, frustration, and crazed fear -all masking the crushing guilt he felt for letting Jeff take that stage and run himself into danger. He was glaring daggers at Don, who stood unfazed with a very calm, arrogant expression. Maybe Don was really trying to calm himself down internally, but there was something about his appearance as he did so that seemed to taunt George. As if Don were rubbing it in his face that he was in better control of himself.

_Yeah, right_ , thought George to himself. Don was delusional if he thought he was in control. The whole band was out of control as of late. And getting on him for potentially scaring Jeff? How many times had Don scared Jeff himself?! 

George's mind still held vivid images of approximately three months ago when Jeff had barricaded himself in the bus bathroom and gotten high on cocaine and sloshed on half a bottle of wine. Don had not only yelled at Jeff. He'd slapped him. Hard. He'd reduced Jeff to a sobbing, frightened mess. George was still royally pissed off at Don for that incident, and in his mind, Don had no business controlling how he chose to care for Jeff after it.

"Are you done?" asked Don.

"I don't know, you tell me since you seem to know everything!"

Don sighed huffily and rolled his eyes.

"The crew has our car in the parking lot. If you can settle down and get a grip on yourself before we get to the hospital, then we can leave right now. I'm going too, because unless I'm the sick one, I'm first in line to approve any advanced treatment necessary."

George groaned. _Oh, of course..._ He couldn't even get away from Don going to the hospital either. He could have told Don to get a cab, but then he'd end up there with George anyway, and if Jeff did need something, he'd have to wait longer for Don to arrive. Why was the world working against him today with Don's insufferable attitude?

_"Fine,"_ he growled, starting to head for the door.

Don rolled his eyes.

"Get back inside our room and get your coat -it's in the thirties outside, and it's raining. The last thing we need right now is for you to go and get sick too."

And apparently Don's inner control-freak was unleashing it's nagging mother hen side too.

George ran back to the dressing room, snatched his coat from where he'd left it, pulled it on, and then ran back to the hallway.

"Okay. Let's go," said Don, heading outside as if George even needed to be told.

They made their way to the parking lot, getting into the car. George automatically took the driver's seat, so Don climbed in the passenger side.

George struggled to get the key into the ignition, nerves keeping his hand from cooperating with him. Out of nervousness and the drive to get to Jeff, he also started to back up without putting on the windshield wipers or the lights, flinching and throwing on the brake when the shadows from a wind blown tree led him to think he was backing up into something in the dark.

"Do you need me to drive?" Don asked bluntly.

It took all of George's willpower not to swear. He was furious, but he didn't want to give Don the satisfaction of becoming angry. He could tell Don had said it to poke a reminder at how he was quote "deranged".

However, George knew that he really couldn't drive right now. He could hardly see straight with how worked up he was, it was raining, and it was overall too much to focus on the road when his thoughts were so scattered. Attempting it would have been reckless.

He undid his seatbelt and flung it off, shoving the car door open and climbing out. Indignantly stuffing his hands in his pockets and scuffing his shoes on the pavement of the parking lot, kicking up small puddles of rainwater, he went around the back of the car toward the passenger side.

Shaking his head, Don got up from the passenger seat and crossed in front of the car to take the driver's side. For the sake of not winding George up any further so that he'd have to deal with him, he bit and held his tongue when the words " _I thought so_ " tried to slip out.

He waited until George had gotten himself settled into the passenger seat before turning the engine on and getting the windshield wipers going, the defroster cranked up, and the headlights on low beams in hopes of getting the optimal visibility one could hope for on a rainy night with back roads lacking street lamps.

Rather easily, Don found his way onto the main road, which connected to a highway into downtown Cheyenne. A road sign even told the distance as eighteen miles -and it had been approximately two miles to get to the highway, so that matched up with the distance the EMTs gave.

George dug his heels into the floor mat and scraped his fingernails hard against the seat, a distinctive noise against the rough fabric. There was something about the sound and imagining the rough texture that was enough to make Don cringe.

"George, will you just settle down?" he sighed, sounding more exasperated than angry this time.

"No!" George snapped, slapping his hands down hard against the seat on either side of him before tightening them into fists so that his fingernails pressed deep imprints into his palms. He was scared for Jeff, and he was enraged at himself for being so easily cajoled. He should have kept his firm answer "no", and then none of this would have happened. 

Later, he would conclude that this need to channel out the anger at himself to something, or someone, was what led him to act the way he did next. Either that, or it was what he'd kept pent up by dropping the argument this morning that had grown with the events of the day.

"George, it's not going to do you or Jeff a bit of good if you go in there and get yourself thrown out. Please calm down."

"If they had any sense, they'd throw you out first," George snapped. "For crying out loud, you're such a control freak -you're probably going to mouth off to the staff and try to order them around before I would think of talking rudely to them. And you aren't even as close to Jeff."

"I know my place in a hospital, George; I sat in the waiting room of one with Jeff for almost six hours after you passed out onstage one time. And _don't you dare_ say that I don't care about Jeff. He was a bundle of nerves that time, and I did all that I could to find him a distraction from it. And even he had more control of himself than you have right now."

"Who's to say you didn't just do it because you knew you'd be in trouble with me if you didn't? I know you better than that."

"George, for heaven's fucking sake-"

"Obviously you don't care about Jeff being a bundle of nerves when you constantly yell around him and make him nervous! You made him nervous this morning because you _had_ to jump up on your soap box and start an argument over completely minute things. Tell me who's fault it was, because I did NOT start that argument -YOU did."

"That argument had _nothing_ to do with Jeff. If he was scared by the noise, that was not my intention. In the future, I will try to watch my volume, but keep in mind that you yelled too. And in this industry, he needs to learn to not get intimidated so easily." Don knew that it sounded harsh, but it was true, and he wasn't going to sugarcoat it. The music industry was dangerous, and fighting within the band was one of the lesser dangers that lurked around them.

"So you act like your sorry, but you don't care what you did!" accused George. "You aren't sorry for how you jump all over him."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Don't even _try_ to play that innocent game, Don -you yelled at Jeff, and you _slapped_ him!"

"Oh, _please_ , George, that was _months_ ago! Drop it! And if you recall, the situation was potentially troublesome for everyone else on the bus, and dangerous for him. You saw how sloshed he was. What if he overdid it and was stuck in there without our knowledge?"

"As if slapping him, sending him into a panic, and shattering glass around him while he was drunk didn't make it any safer?! And there you go, 'drop it', but then you carry in with it! For somebody who prides himself on knowing so much and having learned so much in your own, Don, you are one idiot full of shit," George growled, turning to sulk out the window. "You act like you're the mature one because you're older, but you are so full of it and immature-"

"And you're not? You ought to hear yourself, George. Right now. You pride _yourself_ on all the talent you possess, which is indeed amazing and I'll be the first to say it, but I'm sure there would be a lot of disappointed fans out there if they got to see how you acted offstage. Stop this, take a look at yourself, and come back down to earth this instant. This is ridiculous. This whole car ride. You are being _ridiculous."_

"You're hardly one to talk, Don," George fired back. "You think all the fans are there for you, but they're not. They're there for all of us, and most of them are less interested in you and your pathetic stage banter. They'd rather see Jeff and I, and at meet and greets, everyone always flocks to Jeff because he's really the mature one who knows how to be nice and give his time to everyone equally. I'm willing to bet that if Mick weren't hidden behind that set, everyone would go crazy seeing him onstage, because he's sure a hell of a lot more fun than you, and they'd love him a lot more."

"And I'm sure they would love it if Mick came forward at a point, because he's a riot and a lot of fun, but Mick doesn't like to draw attention to himself and prefers being behind that kit. I don't even see the point of what you're saying, George. Are you implying that the fans don't care about me? I don't give a shit if not all of them are there to see me and if they're all marveling at you. Some of them aren't there for any one of us and just want to hear music and be out and about having a good time!" Don rolled his eyes, but there was something in his voice that was beginning to sound defeated, as if something had struck a nerve -either that or he was tired of how the argument was going around in circles.

"Let me clarify -you think there are fans out there that love you, and they don't! If they ever did, they're starting to see your ways by now and they don't anymore. People have called you out on it. Your former bandmates left you because they hated you -that was why you had to get me and Mick, and that was why you had to get Jeff after Juan left, because Juan could not stand you -he doesn't even like his current singer, but he'd obviously rather deal with him than you!"

Don groaned, nearly face planting on the steering wheel. This was so ludicrous, and a minute ago he wouldn't have thought it could get any crazier. Now it was plain unreasonable. He was almost ready to give it up. All the irrelevant topics getting dragged up were becoming painful.

"Juan Croucier left Dokken because there was a slow start and he knew he was going to hit success faster when he left. He was straddling multiple bands and decided to go where he felt was best -which worked great for him at first, but now they're struggling with conflict too. Don't tell me he left solely because of me, because you drove him crazy too by pulling him into every conflict you managed to start. And as much as you blame me for dragging Jeff into arguments he's not a part of -look, you just pulled Juan into this when he hasn't been in this band for _how many years now?_ -and he's not even with us in this car! That's as low and disgraceful as you can get to a former bandmate. Don't go there, George; don't even fucking go there!"

"No, it's true! You think you're all that to everyone, and you're not! Even your parents sent you away and put you in foster homes, because they never loved you," George snarled.

There seemed to be a stinging feel to the air in the car as George's low blow spread to the far reaches, echoing darkly and spreading a deep, sickening cold about it. Even George was silent for a second, as if his subconscious was stunned.

"George, I don't think you realize what you're saying. I'll say what I've been saying again. _You need to settle the fuck down,"_ Don said in a low, intimidating growl. It lost its effect when there was a subtle tremble on "down", and when he stopped at that, not seeming to have a barrage of counter-arguments like before. He apparently had lost his resolve.

"Oh, so you're nervous. You're scared of me, you're scared of the truth, you're too vain to admit that you're not as great as you'd like to think you are, and you're too stuck up to show that you might actually be nervous for Jeff and concerned if he's okay. You're the most arrogant motherfucker I've ever met in my life. You're even too arrogant to show that you care." George circled back around the argument as if one whole section of it never took place. In some ways, he was so angry that his words were coming out in a ramble and meshing together so that he really didn't know what he was saying.

"I'm _not,"_ said Don tersely, his grip getting higher up on the steering wheel so that his hands were practically touching at the top and tightening so that his knuckles were white.

"Then why's your voice shaking? Yeah, you are. So you're just going to deny it then and keep pretending you don't care," George continued caustically. "Or you don't, and you're only nervous because I'm just calling you out on what's true. You only care about yourself and you really couldn't give two shits whether Jeff is okay. That's it, isn't it?"

Don stayed silent for a second, then spoke in a low, clipped, forced tone as if he was trying to control it, a sarcastic edge on it.

"I'm _crying._ That's as honest an answer as you're going to get from me, George, because it's the truth. Are you _happy_ now?"

George turned around and looked closely this time, slightly surprised as it occurred to him that he'd never seen Don cry before. Sure enough, Don _was_ crying -but only just. His eyes were watery in the reflection of the street lights, his eyeshadow was a bit smudged, and George could see a couple of wet tracks from the corners of his eyes terminating in smears where he'd stopped them. His mouth was turned down and his lower lip appeared to protrude, but nothing more.

There was something about how calm and collected Don seemed about it when George felt as if he would go out of his mind if he didn't get to the hospital and hear that Jeff was okay within the next ten seconds. George had been fighting back tears himself since finding Jeff collapsed, and knew that he'd be an ugly, sobbing hot mess the second he lost that battle. It irked George, seeing Don as the perfect opposite of that, and he decided that Don was simply being dramatic, trying to shut him up, and not really torn up over anything. It would certainly explain why Don had openly admitted to it.

"Oh, please..." He rolled his eyes. "Maybe I will be when you actually stop being selfish all the time and act like you actually care about Jeff. I bet you don't even care he's sick. What if it's life threatening? What if it _is?_ Would you care then?" George looked over, throwing a biting glance at Don.

Don gave no answer, not even looking over at George and breaking his focus that was dead-set on the road.

George scoffed at the lack of answer. "You probably _don't_ care if it is! In fact, I bet you _hope_ it is, because if he died, you'd just get more attention."

George turned around to resume his position leaned on his elbow, sulking out the window. Don stayed silent -unusual for him -and continued to drive, pushing the accelerator harder and harder, the car speeding up as tension built. An axe wouldn't have made it through the tension in the car by this point, George thought as he watched the reflection of the speedometer in the window climb past 80, creeping progressively faster toward 100, the RPM gauge climbing too, getting closer to the red.

And then, before he quite sorted out the swirl of thoughts running through his mind as he worried about Jeff, excruciating words sprang to George's tongue before he even realized what he was saying and could stop himself.

"I wish it were you, you know that? Because _maybe_ it wouldn't be so painful to everyone in the event it really were life threatening and you died," George spat. "The fans would rather have Jeff than you and we'd all be whole lot better off."

There was silence for only a split second, and then the train went off its tracks.

With a lurch of the suspension and hair-raising screeches from the tires, Don slammed on the brakes and pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road sharply. The car all but skidded to a stop on the wet asphalt before he threw the transmission out of gear and turned the engine off. Then there was silence. Piercing silence, except for rain pattering on the roof of the car and the windshield.

George continued to glower out the window for a minute, waiting for his stomach to stop turning flips and his heart to stop fluttering his throat, before curiosity struck as to why Don had stopped the car and not said anything or attempted to fight back as he had in the past. He continued to wait, expecting Don to get out at any minute, walk around the car, pull open the passenger door, and slap him. But it didn't happen.

The glare on his face morphed into a suspicious look. Slowly, he sat up from the window and turned around.

Don sat hunched over his lap as if to fold in on himself and hide. He had his left hand over his chest and his right hand raised up on his forehead, but in a clawed position so that his fingers gripped the bridge of his nose -not enough to keep his hand from shaking. George saw Don's shoulders heave with deep, silent, yet unsteady breathing, trying to keep quiet and in control. His eyes were closed, but tears were forcing their way out against his will, and his face twisted with some combination of pain and embarrassment.

Dramatic as it looked, there was nothing deliberate or exaggerated to Don's appearance as opposed to earlier. Everything George could see was painfully real. It was almost as if Don was bracing himself for whatever came next, not bothering to fight it now that his vulnerability had slipped.

George replayed his words in his head from before Don yanked the car off the road, trying to make sense of the blur of events, and as soon as he did, he felt bad. The frantic anger and snideness keeping his own vulnerability in check left him and he winced, flopping forward over his lap and rubbing his hands against his knees, ashamed. 

_Damn. That was... Did I say all those things? Did I say *that*?_

George was disgusted with Don following their argument this morning. Sometimes he did wish he was with a different frontman, and part of him did wish that Don was sick rather than Jeff. But he also knew that everyone in the band owed a lot to Don, getting to where they were, and he really didn't wish his life peril. He knew that despite being in a panic over Jeff, it had been severely out of line to say those words. And following the fight and Jeff's collapse, Don had been in no position to withstand them.

The conscious voice in George's head nagged him. Taunted him because he _just had to keep prodding and making it worse_ until he said the absolute worst. That Don had indeed been right when he'd accused him of not knowing what he was saying. That he was no better than Don when he'd scared Jeff. He might as well have slapped Don in the face with what he'd said, and Don didn't seem to be any better off than Jeff had been. In some ways, worse -he wasn't paranoid from a high on cocaine.

George wanted to kick himself in the ass for those words, and Mick might have done just that if he'd been with them to witness it. Even Jeff would be disappointed with him, George realized to his dismay. He would have done anything right then to take them back, along with a good part of what he'd said leading up to it. Heck, what else had he said in the past few months of this tour while things got progressively worse? What had they really been saying to each other? Just how far out of control were they?

"Don?" asked George, his voice softened from its loud, biting, accusatory state to a meek timidness. "Don, I'm s-"

Don pulled in a staggering gasp, sounding like he was in agony and about to hyperventilate.

"It won't stop," he choked out in a whisper, sitting up, still keeping his head hung low and his eyes shielded. 

"W-what?!" stammered George, eyes snapping wide open. He felt his stomach drop, realizing that there was more to what was going on than what it seemed as Don's irregular breathing progressed into frantic gasps for air. George ripped the glove compartment open, pulling out the emergency flashlight they had thought to put in there and turning it on so they weren't in the dark and he could see. Don was flushed in the face, shaking all over, and breaking out in a sweat.

"D-dizzy; I can't b-breathe- -something's g-grabbing me." Don put his hand over his throat, trying to explain what he felt and couldn't describe in words. He shuddered, recoiling against the window of the car as if he was utterly terrified of George when he leaned in his direction with the flashlight, trying to get a look. "It's attacking me -Heart w-won't stop pounding-" 

"You're having a panic attack," said George bluntly, jumping into action. He unbuckled his seatbelt, then reached across and released Don from his.

"Give me your hands," ordered George, taking Don's hands in his own, trying to reconnect him to his surroundings, feeling the trembling and how bad it was. He kept looking around the car, as if there were an impending danger hidden in the darkness, ready to jump out and grab hold of him.

"Look at me, Don. In my eyes -look at me." He was turned sideways in his seat, encouraging Don to do the same and trying to get eye contact with him.

Don started to look George in the eyes, but then his focus darted sideways and back around the car sporadically in his state of anxiety, reflexively slamming his eyes shut at any sudden movement George made to try and get his attention.

"No, Don -here. That's it. Keep looking here. Right h- -no, not there. Over here." George continued this until Don focused steadily into his eyes, effectively distracting him from hyperventilating and bringing his pulse and respiration back to a regular pattern. 

The grips of panic had released their stronghold on Don, but had shattered his normal, confident exterior and it's arrogant appearance. He looked bewildered and shaken -almost bearing a childlike innocence that was so unlike him. It was oddly... pitiful. That was the only word George could come up with to describe it. Pitiful.

Knowing he'd been the source of impending danger to trigger the panic attack with everything else he was ashamed of before, George's stomach twisted and his own heart pounded. He felt awful.

"I'm really sorry, Don -I am," he blurted frantically, sounding about ready to cry himself and feeling the sting behind his eyes that told him he would. "Those words flew out before I thought through what I was saying. And I don't even know where some of them came from."

In truth, though he wasn't entirely sorry for what he'd said in their argument in the morning, as it had been what he felt without exaggeration, George knew that all of it had contributed to this too -he knew enough about panic attacks to understand how they worked. Today would down for sure in his book as the definition of "a day from Hell", tonight being the exclamation point on the end of it. 

Don looked downward, gasping shakily and holding his hands up and out to his sides limply. He was clearly disoriented in his post-panic state and appeared to not know what to do with himself.

"Oh, God... -George, do you think I'm not sorry too? If you really think...? -For goodness sake, of course I want Jeff to be okay. I do hope it's not life threatening -and damn it, I am scared; I'm scared out of my wits right now-!"

Throat swelling up, George reached out and wrapped his arms around Don in another attempt to ground him. Part of him was desperate for comfort himself, and though he'd have never guessed it would happen, he was willing to hold onto the only other warm body in that car with him, even if it was his arch nemesis. George was beyond his limit in which he could keep his sanity intact, so he supposed it was a measure of his state, and found he really didn't care if it was Don. And Don had fallen over the same edge by now too, so at least he'd possibly understand despite how fucked up it was.

George felt Don awkwardly embrace him too, and a gentle pat against his side. He'd been anticipating a counter-argument that would have been every bit as brutal as his own, or at least another lecture. But instead, he looked up in confusion -and was that a hint of _gratitude_ in Don's eyes?

"I'm so scared, Don," George choked out, giving way to what he'd resisted.

"I'm scared too, George," Don whispered, calm again, as it was now his turn to comfort George. "I am too." 

They stayed together a minute, holding to each other in fear -the fear that had driven George to lose control and say so many things he didn't mean as a way of expelling it, and the fear that had allowed it to get through Don's thick shields. It was quiet, only tiny noises from George breaking the silence.

Don felt he only owed it to George to comfort him too -he wasn't used to being comforted in any way during panic attacks. Usually he had to endure them alone, hiding them, and it was a surprise that George Lynch of all people would be the first one in the band to break that pattern. Especially at the end of such an atrocious day between them, but somehow, it was almost nice. He wasn't ready to forgive George for what he'd said and done today, and it was extremely uncomfortable being with him right now. But more than from the apology, Don knew that George was sorry from how he'd responded to the panic attack, and it wouldn't have helped either of them for him to rail back on George and run him down to a train wreck. George had pretty much had been there since before they'd left the venue, and it had driven him to act that way. And Don was also aware he'd egged things on this morning, which hadn't helped either.

After a couple of minutes passed, he spoke, hoping that George had gotten out what the nasty words were hiding.

"I get how close you and Jeff are -you two are practically inseparable. I _know_ that you're scared, because he _is_ dangerously ill right now, and we don't know what's going on. And you're not taking it well, going crazy like this, but I understand not taking it well. Because I'm honestly not either. Though by now you can probably tell."

George sobbed, pulling away from Don and attempting to dry his eyes, inwardly groaning at how pathetic this was, being pulled over on the side of the road having a cry fest. The only saving grace was that Don had lost his composure too, so they were even -and Don had been the first, so it wasn't as mortifying a situation for George as it could have been. It still didn't keep him from being embarrassed, and on top of everything else, his nose was running -quite a lot from the cocaine he'd snorted before the show and made worse by crying. That posed a problem, granted that this was a rental car they got for their stay in town tonight and most of tomorrow. Meaning they didn't have most common comforts they might have had in their own cars, like paper towels in the glove compartment that could have functioned as tissues in a pinch.

"And w-what's your situation?" demanded George, snorting wetly against gravity and pinching between his forefinger and thumb to get to the calming pressure point as an attempt at control before he made any more of a scene.

Don sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the car, his eyes becoming teary again. _Oh for crying out loud -literally... Not again. Once tonight was enough..._

"George, I don't say it often, because contrary to your belief, I don't like bringing pity on myself. But I grew up in a very complicated situation -as you are somewhat aware -where nothing was consistent, and I never had a true family. It was something I always dreamed of, but never could have. Jeff... in some ways, he reminds me of the little brother I never had and never will have. And whenever he gets sick like this, or he goes and binges on drugs and gets sick that way, it's very scary for me. I'm afraid that he'll hurt himself one day and that we might lose him, and I really don't want that any more than you do."

George gulped. "I'm sorry." 

He wished he could better understand Don's situation, but he couldn't. It sounded sad, but he couldn't wrap his head around the feeling of it. He knew that Jeff would understand if he were told. Jeff was the sweetest person any of them and could see from so many perspectives. However, he was in the hospital, not with them, and figuring this out wasn't at the top of George's to-do list.

"Right now we have to do -all we can do, really -is do what we can to ensure that Jeff ends up okay," said Don. "I know that you and I still have a lot to work out between us, and some of it never will be worked out -given it's been how many years and we haven't been able to settle it. But Jeff is more important than that stuff. To you, and me -he is far more important to us than any of that stuff combined. He's the one thing in common we have that we can agree on."

"Well," started George, settling back into his seat to face forward, still in the battle of pulling himself together, which wasn't easy under the weight of Don's accurate reflection on what Jeff meant to them. "You know, sitting here on the side of the road having a pity party isn't helping him."

"I _know_ it's not helping him," groaned Don, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes and the space above just below his eyebrows on the bone as if he had a headache. "Tried to keep myself together and stay calm... As you can see, I fucked that up, so that's just it."

George sniffed back forcefully again, realizing his nose was now visibly running as he felt it just above his upper lip. He grimaced, wiping his nose on his jacket sleeve and trying not to think of all the snot he'd just swallowed when he sucked it back in, or what was smeared under his nose.

"We _both_ fucked up," he corrected. "I lost my cool too; that didn't help you at all. And if I weren't so busy brooding over this morning, I might have thought things through better and known that Jeff was too sick before the show. Then this wouldn't have happened."

"Jeff would have still been very sick. And we might not have realized it was severe enough to need the hospital if he hadn't passed out from it," rationalized Don, strapping himself back into his seat, wiping away the last of his tears and taking a deep breath. "Alright, that's enough of this crap. We need to get there and be with him. And we're going to need to find the facilities and wash up first, so we'd better get there sooner than later."

George managed to crack a smile and produce the beginning of a laugh at this remark -he really did need to wash up after their episode, and having not gotten his stage makeup off in the shower, Don had the look of a raccoon with dark blue markings. Poor Jeff would have a panic attack minus the tears to match Don's if he saw the evidence, and neither George nor Don would be able to deal with that, or being seen as they were. Promptly, he redid his seatbelt and Don turned the car back on, setting the windshield wipers to clear the rain that had accumulated on the glass.

"To the hospital," he reiterated from the front passenger seat.

Don put the car into gear and pulled back onto the road, revving it up to the speed limit. He'd have usually opted to go faster, but it was raining, the roads were getting slick as the temperature dropped, and both he and George could agree that they'd had enough excitement for tonight.

It ended up taking half an hour to get there from where they'd stopped. It would have only been twenty minutes, but they ran into freezing rain, and twice, Don and George had to stop to clean the ice from the wiper blades in the front so they continued to catch, and clear the back windshield. Neither argued over who should have done what. Don cleaned the left side of the windshields and the left windows, and George cleaned the right side, respective to the sides they were sitting on before resuming their places in the car, shivering as they brushed ice crystals out of their hair.

Finally, they got to the hospital, parked, and made their way inside. Don spotted the directory sign over the information desk, and he and George went straight to the restroom before anyone saw them all disheveled.

"You have mascara all-" warned George, motioning around his own eyes to explain the effect of a big mess. "-you look like a raccoon."

"Oh, I'm sure I do. I probably look like I'm high too, and I'm not." Don wet a paper towel in the sink and scrubbed at the water-resistant makeup, the blue lightening up to finally disappear as he did. He blew out a sigh and grumbled something inaudible about having made a bigger mess rubbing his eyes and smearing it around in the car than if he'd just left it alone.

"Well, to be fair, I actually was high before the show, and if I didn't look like I was high then, I do now," George replied, going about his less complicated clean up, feeling better as soon as he did.

Don looked over at George. His darker skin tone hid the redness around his eyes a lot better.

"I think you can pass for being tired. Which wouldn't be hard to deny -it's the truth for most of us," he concluded. "I'll have to come up with a better excuse, though I don't really care what anyone else thinks, as long as the hospital staff doesn't get jumpy and it doesn't scare Jeff."

George thought for a second, checking himself in the mirror for anything he'd missed. He no longer had the smear under his nose that was driving him crazy; even if it wasn't visible, he'd been able to feel it and it'd had him self conscious. He didn't feel anything anymore, and he at least didn't think he saw anything.

"I don't think it'll scare him. He'll be concerned and maybe a little nervous -if he's awake to see it when we first get there, but he won't be scared. You need to tell him not to worry about it if he notices."

Don snorted sarcastically, discarding his blue-stained paper towels, his "raccoon mask" washed away.

"George, did you seriously think I wouldn't tell him that if he got upset over it? It's not his fault."

George slumped over with guilt again, staying quiet and leaning against the wall. He didn't have an answer, and he knew that Don wasn't really looking for one either.

"Hey."

George felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to face Don.

"You okay?" Don asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay, George replied meekly. "Are _you_ okay?"

"All things considered, I think I'm pretty good for post-panic attack," said Don.

George nearly flinched. Had Don had panic attacks before? He'd never seen one, though Don had calmed down from it pretty quickly and his reaction when it was over was unlike a person who had experienced their first in that he wasn't frantic and demanding what had just happened. This band really was screwed up in every possible way. This tour was even worse. Everything -including the kitchen sink -was a mess. As much time as they spent on the road together in close quarters, and all the things about Don that George didn't know because they were constantly isolated and communication was non-existent. Then again, Don made it easy to isolate him. It still seemed utterly pathetic.

He snapped out of his train of thoughts when Don sighed.

"Alright, let's go find Jeff. Are you ready?" He had his hand on the door handle, suggesting he was ready.

"What the hell do you think?!" George demanded, turning around and rushing for the door.

Don rolled his eyes, pulling it open before George got in the way of it.

"Service counter first. He's probably in the ICU, but it'd be better to check than end up on a wild goose chase," he suggested.

It was a silent, tense walk to the guest service counter. Jeff had indeed been moved from the emergency department to the ICU by now, and Don and George made their way there as soon as they found out.

"You can check in," said Don quietly. Don had them all in each other's medical records as authorized visitors should there be an emergency like this one. Though he was the one in charge of authorizing emergency medical procedures should there be the need for it, George was allowed to check them in, and Don knew that letting him do it would give him a sense of control in the situation and calm him down.

George approached the counter and Don stood behind him. He showed the receptionist his ID and Don's ID.

"We're here for Jeffrey Steven Pilson," he spoke.

In a painfully slow process, the receptionist found Jeff's file of patients in the hospital, found the authorization, and gave Don and George visitor passes.

"He's in room I-27," said the receptionist.

George started to head back immediately in a knee-jerk fashion.

"Thank you," mouthed Don hurriedly before rushing after, trying to keep up with him.

When they arrived at the room, the LPN was keeping watch over Jeff, ready to alert the registered nurse on duty should anything happen. She stood up immediately, as if ready to calm them both down. Jeff was stable and okay, but it wasn't uncommon for patient family to panic at the gear Jeff had on.

"You guys here for Jeff?" she asked.

"Yes," said Don.

George's eyes got big as saucers at the oxygen mask Jeff had on, which was especially daunting to see when Jeff was asleep and relatively motionless. His cheeks were a healthy shade of pink again, and he didn't have the sunken eyed appearance of dehydration anymore, but that didn't keep George from recoiling and for a second looking like he might pass out.

Don pulled one of the smaller, plastic chairs from beside the door and put it behind George. "You'd better sit down."

George did.

"Jeff is going to be okay," assured the nurse. "He's breathing on his own, but because he's having a little bit of trouble, we have that there to make sure he gets enough of what he needs until his antibiotics start taking effect. The doctor did wake him up to let him know what was going on and he was very cooperative and polite, but we had him go back to sleep as soon as the doctor gave the okay. He had a seizure before he came here, and that's very draining."

"What the f- heck is going on with him?" asked George, catching himself at the last second from swearing and making note that he probably needed to dial back on it while with the hospital staff. The only reassuring thing was that Jeff had been his usual sweet self when the Doctor woke him up.

The registered nurse on duty appeared in the doorway.

"He's got some pretty severe bacterial bronchitis going in there that looks like it's been going on a while, and double pneumonia. That could be worse -his lungs don't have that much fluid in them, so it probably only started to come on in the past forty-eight hours, though that can get you into trouble really quick. The doctor has him on some strong antibiotics and fever reducers, and once he gets some rest, he's going to get something to help him cough up what he can. And he's going to need to take it easy for at least three days. No running around or anything crazy. I would say if he made it through a performance in his condition without passing out, he's a trooper, but he's also very lucky."

George noticed that the estimate of when the pneumonia came on explained the jump in Jeff's feverish symptoms and when he started to really become run down.

"You all are here, so I'm going to go out, but if any alarms go off or if he wakes up or anything, call for one of us," said the LPN, ducking out.

"And if he has a seizure again," added the registered nurse. "The doctor is pretty certain the one he had was a combination of the blood pressure drop and heat exertion from running on a high fever, but if he has another one, we'll need to know right away to re-evaluate for anything else." She walked out and closed the door, leaving Don and George alone with Jeff.

Silence took for a second aside from the steady beeping of Jeff's pulse monitor.

"How the fuck did we not know?" George demanded. "I mean, looking back, with the type of cough he had, we could have figured bronchitis. But he wasn't acting like a person with bronchitis. And isn't that highly contagious? How in the world did it not spread through the bus?!"

"I don't know, George," said Don. He pulled up the other plastic chair to Jeff's side. George went around the bed and sat down in the chair the nurse had been in. He held Jeff's hand in his.

Jeff continued to sleep, unconscious to the world.

"The seizure took a lot of his energy," Don noted. "The fever might have been why he was acting like he had body aches too. You know, Jeff was really proactive in trying not to spread whatever he had. He was constantly washing his hands, keeping to himself, keeping his stuff away from our stuff, and he had that bandanna on. He wasn't coughing or sneezing out -they say that most viruses and bacteria that cause bronchitis don't live on inanimate surfaces very long, so if he didn't let it get going around in the air, we wouldn't have easily gotten sick."

"That is true," said George. "Though I just feel like I should have seen it, because I was with him a lot."

"Nobody in this room can blame themselves for it entirely, George," sighed Don. "It happens. You weren't looking for the worst, and neither was I -we're used to getting sick a lot on the road, and usually it's not that serious. Jeff is really energetic and it didn't look that serious until a couple days ago. It was too easy to brush off as a nasty virus that would go away on its own. And, then let's face it. The two of us were fighting -a lot -and Mick was hiding out away from it. That was another distraction."

"So if we did anything wrong, then we're all equally at fault?" asked George.

Don thought for a minute.

"Yeah, let's put it that way and leave it there," he decided. "We all had our share in letting it escalate; we're all equally at fault. Jeff doesn't want us to fight over him either, and I think we've _both_ done enough of that today."

George nodded, leaning forward to rest his chin on the guardrail, tired as silence overtook them again. He kept contact with one hand on Jeff at all times though, even when he did doze off. 

Time passed slowly in a hazy, trance-like state. About an hour later, the registered nurse came in and changed Jeff's IV bag, then leaned over him with her stethoscope for two minutes, assessing his lungs in case if his condition had changed.

"What's that?" Don asked out of curiosity when the nurse went into the IV port in his hand with a syringe of medication.

"This is Toradol," said the nurse. "It's a very potent NSAID -think ibuprofen times ten. We try not to use it for very long, because it can upset the stomach for some, and it is harsh on the liver and kidneys. But, in a case of a patient out of abdominal surgery where there's a lot of pain, or somebody who has a very high fever and inflammation like Jeff here, it works very fast to control stuff, and lasts longer than the medications that'll make someone loopy."

"So that'll get his fever down and help his breathing?" asked George, lifting his head up, having been pulled back to reality for a second with the sounds.

"Yes, it will. It has -he's less wheezy and constricted because it's reducing the inflammation in his bronchial tubes," said the nurse. She used the port through Jeff's oxygen mask then, sticking a probe through.

"Oral temperature is 99.7," she read. "A little higher than normal, but good."

"A _whole_ lot better than earlier," George sighed, putting his head back down as if somebody had just deflated a tension filled balloon inside him.

"Thank you for that," said Don. He always despised hospital staff that decided to be all hush-hush about what was going on, and on the contrary, appreciated those who were willing to share the news.

Another two hours passed. The silence continued. George fell asleep for the first hour and a half, still keeping a hand on Jeff's wrist, then woke up and left the room for a few minutes to stretch his legs and get water from the vending machine.

"Anything?" he asked Don at his return.

"Not yet," said Don, getting up and going out in the hall, also in need of a break from the dim, silent room.

"Come on, Jeff," George willed, finger combing his messy fringe. "You have to wake up at some point. You're strong enough, I know it. You fought through with it as long as you did without even knowing and without medicine to help you. And Don and I are worried for you."

He chuckled for a brief second, imagining how Jeff would react if he'd seen them for the past five hours, how they'd acted with each other. Then he continued to talk, as if Jeff could hear him. And if Jeff was semi-conscious, he might have heard it whether George could tell or not.

"If it's any indication of it, Don and I have been with each other for five hours straight. For the past four and a half since a blowup in the car -and no, I actually started that one and I'm not proud of it -we haven't really gone at each other. We've even come to a few agreements over today. And the world isn't ending ...well, at least not to anyone's knowledge."

George hadn't been able to resist that snarky remark at the end of his monologue.

Don opened the door and came back in, sitting down.

"Still nothing?"

"Uh-huh," George murmured. "I'm hoping that'll change soon though."

"Well, just wait... like we have been."

George sighed and lowered himself back down on the guardrail again.

Ten minutes passed.

"Pssst!"

George ignored it.

"Pssst!" Don hissed. "George!" 

George looked up, zoned out. "What?" he asked, drawn out in a noisy yawn.

"Shhh, watch," said Don, pointing to Jeff. "See if he does it a-"

Jeff's eyelids fluttered.

George sat up jet straight and watched anxiously.

"Come here, Jeff," murmured Don softly. "I'm sure you've heard George say it too at some point tonight, and I'm gonna say it again. Come on back to us. It's okay now. You don't have to worry about waking up and seeing us angry and fighting at each other right now, because it's not gonna happen."

"There's nothing to fight over right now," added George. "Because we're both scared and all we want is for you to get better."

The tiniest of moans -and a very raspy one if that -emerged from Jeff.

George's eyes lit up, and he looked up to exchange grins of excitement with Don.

"That's it, Jeff. Come back to us," Don encouraged.

Jeff's eyes slowly opened, reflexively squinting even at the dim light in the room, and then he opened them again, looking around confused and moaning.

"George?" he croaked.

"I'm right here," sighed George, patting his wrist. "Oh, my..."

Jeff looked taken aback, looking at George and then around the room.

"Don?"

"You gave us quite the scare," said Don. He sounded serious, but he was ...smiling? It was more of a smirk, but not a mean-spirited one.

"Welcome back," he said tiredly. "Though if you think we're gonna have you onstage at the next show with double pneumonia, think again. It's been postponed a day."

The look on Jeff's face was priceless.

"Yeah, you are _way_ sicker than you thought," said George, poking Jeff in the side, provoking a tiny hint of a giggle from him. "Do us a favor and never get in condition to have a seizure again -that was awful."

"Alright, George, not that much sarcasm. Now you're scaring him," Don warned as Jeff looked up to him for confirmation with his big, fearful doe eyes.

George started to snort, but then saw Jeff's face and very cautiously hugged him. It wasn't too difficult, as Jeff was propped up so that he was nearly sitting up -lying flat not being as safe a position.

"How high was my fever?" asked Jeff nervously, weakly reaching around George and wincing. He moved stiffly, obviously sore.

"Over 105," said George. "And that's all you need to know, because it's under control now and you're okay."

"Speaking of which," said Don, going to the door. "Better tell the nurse."

"Oh boy," groaned George. "There goes the peace and quiet!"

"Oh, please, you heard what they said. If he wakes up, which he did-"

Jeff gave off a pained giggle, dissolving into a round of coughing under his mask, before looking up at both of them.

"I thought you guys weren't bickering enough there for a minute..."

Don looked back from the door pricelessly at that remark, and he and George both laughed.

"No, trust me, we bickered enough earlier. This is nothing," said George.

"And we're done with that for tonight," said Don, turning back around, opening the door, and going to the nurses' station.

George sighed with relief, setting Jeff back down against his pillows before leaning back in his own chair.

Jeff looked up questioningly with his wide eyes at George as the nurse came back in after Don.

"What happened?" asked Jeff timidly of the "bickering".

"Is everyone alright?" asked the nurse, coming over to check Jeff's vitals again now that he was awake.

Don smiled tiredly, shaking his head and sinking back down in his chair. George patted Jeff's wrist calmingly and sent his answer to both Jeff and the nurse.

"We're all okay."


End file.
